


To Feel, To Be Felt

by magnoliastars



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Geralt is emotionally constipated, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, M/M, Roach is an honorary character always, and they’re both idiots, he doesn’t do feelings, uhhh maybe light angst, who don’t realize it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:35:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22126462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magnoliastars/pseuds/magnoliastars
Summary: Somehow, Geralt has grown accustomed to Jaskier and all his loud ways - and maybe feels a bit more for the bard than he wants to admit to himself.Jaskier pines after Geralt, letting more and more slip through.Through a series of mishaps, they both eventually come together. Eventually.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 22
Kudos: 532





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> First off, I would like to say that this goddamn show has gotten me so addicted that I am writing fanfiction for the first time in three years, for this show, because there isn’t nearly enough fic for it.  
> Second, I’m terribly sorry if any of this is OOC, I don’t have a beta reader and frankly both characters are hard to write for, but especially Geralt and his grump-but-soft personality.  
> And last, please enjoy, thank you for taking the time to read this if you do, it means a lot!

“Geralt, come on, it won't be all that bad…” Jaskier protested, frowning at the firm back of the witcher in front of him. “It’s one event! And it’s only for a couple hours, I just have to perform there, you see-“

“No.”

“But-“

“Jaskier, I said no. Last time you dragged me to some social event, I wound up with a damn Child Surprise. Not happening again.” Geralt turned briefly around to fix a surly glare on Jaskier, to which the bard pointedly ignored, instead riding up next to the witcher.  
They had been on the road for almost a week now since the last contract, which probably was contributing to the witcher’s more foul than usual mood. They were in the backcountry areas of Velen, and since the town they had just left, there had been not one sign of even a village - the most they had come across was a few small farms, with barely a farmhouse on the land. Both the witcher and the bard both were in desperate need of baths, and they were tired of camping on the ground, although Jaskier was the only one to voice his complaints - Geralt remained as stoic and silent as ever. 

“But just think, Geralt! It’s an actual town, which means an inn, and a proper bath, and beds! We both know you’re as tired of it as I am, though the gods know you’d never admit to it.”  
Geralt grunted in response.

Jaskier took that to mean yes, and grinned. “So, it’s settled! We’ll make a slight detour, and I can amaze and wow the crowds with my songs.”  
Geralt gave a sullen look towards the bard, but said nothing, seemingly swayed by the promise of being able to get properly clean for the first time in a week. With the amount of monsters that seemed to roam near vulnerable farmhouses, Geralt’s armor had spots of dried blood that hadn’t quite managed to get scraped off, and both men had a thin layer of dirt and grime encrusted on them. 

“So, do you think I’ll-“

“Jaskier.” The witcher almost growled out the sentence. “Please. Shut up.”

The bard, in turn, rolled his eyes and said “You know you wouldn’t. Plus, if I shut up, how are you supposed to be warned of all the lords I have to deftly avoid tonight?”  
Geralt grunted, muttering “I’d rather not,” But otherwise made no move to stop the bard as they continued on towards the town.

It was a surprisingly small town, Geralt thought as they rode in. Usually, when Jaskier spoke about parties or balls to attend, they usually took place in the city. But then again, the town also stunk of nobility, so maybe it was just the right place.  
The inn would most likely be overpriced, as well as just about anything else in this town probably. But it was an inn all the same, and that meant a bath.

Jaskier headed straight for the stage as soon as they were inside, and within minutes had begun the now famous lines of “Toss a coin to your witcher...” Geralt leaned against the wall of the inn’s tavern for a minute, watching the bard, before rolling his eyes and moving towards the innkeep to see about a room.

As he stomped up the stairs to the room, he thought some. Jaskier was actually a good musician - although he would never admit that out loud. But strangely enough, the witcher had gotten used to his talking - the constant babble of chatter and meaningless stories that constantly poured from the bard’s mouth. As much as Geralt pushed it out of his mind, the bard had become a fixture in his life, and one that he was no longer eager to get rid of. That admission surprised Geralt, and he frowned, not wanting to think about what that meant to him.  
He moved to draw the bath, wanting to get clean from the week’s worth of blood and grime, and wanting to push those recent thoughts from his mind. Witchers did have emotions, they weren’t just shells, but they all tended towards not letting those emotions show through - Geralt especially. He had a belief that it worked out better that way in the long run, to not get attached to others and for them to not get attached to him. Yet somehow, here he was, with a bard sticking to him like a burr.  
He shook his head, stepping into the bath and letting the water wash away the dirt, and clear his mind.

When he stepped out of the bath and into the main area of the room, a towel around his waist, Jaskier was there, lounging on one of the beds. The bard had a peculiar look on his face, but quickly began talking once again, and any thought of the look was lost.

“Geralt! Oh wonderful, already clean! You know, this is awfully reminiscent when I brought you with me to Calanthe’s ball - or at least, what happened beforehand. Except this time, I’m not rubbing chamomile onto your bottom… a shame, really.”  
Geralt stared at Jaskier.  
“Oh! Well, anyways, I have a wonderful outfit for you to put on. I swear, it’s not too extravagant - I remember what happened last time I tried to put you in something like that, I’d rather not lose my head.” The bard shuddered, but was still smiling. He bent down to rummage through his packs, presumably to find whatever atrocity he wanted to make the witcher wear tonight. As he did so, Geralt found himself staring rather contemplatively at Jaskier’s ass - it was a rather nice ass, honestly, and… when had he started to think that? He furrowed his brows. And then Jaskier turned, tossing a heap of fabric at Geralt, and he pulled his gaze up quickly, catching the bundle.  
“I’m going to go finally take my own much needed bath, rid myself of this terrible smell of… I think that swamp we went through, and when I’m done I expect you to be in those clothes Geralt!” And with that he was past Geralt, into the bath room.

Geralt reluctantly pulled on the clothes, already wishing to be back in his gear. The armor and the swords were a kind of unconscious comfort, and every time he had to go without them he felt strangely exposed. 

When Jaskier finally stepped out again, also wearing a new set of clothes that were not blood-stained, he grinned at Geralt. “Look at you, see, you really do clean up nicely. Now let’s go, I believe we’ll be fashionably late, as all bards and Witcher’s should be.”  
Geralt grunted in response, muttering “I don’t think that’s a thing, Jaskier.” Reluctantly, he followed Jaskier out the door of their room. The ball would only be for a few hours, and with luck, he wouldn’t run into anyone who would draw attention to him. With luck.


	2. two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier thinks (in itself a bit of a strange occurrence while at a ball surrounded by nobles) and comes to a rather confusing realization.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s the second chapter, as promised! This is the first time I’m actually continuing a multi-chapter story, so thank you to the few people who commented saying that they wanted to see the rest!  
> As usual, it is not beta’d because I don’t have a beta reader, but I tried my best, and hopefully it’s enjoyable!

Geralt hated balls. He hated balls, banquets, and anything of the sort that bore even a vague resemblance. He hated attention being drawn to him - and nothing drew attention to him more than the courts, the nobles, the people that flocked to hear Jaskier’s damn songs about him, that already made him so much more known to the people. He was amazed with himself that he still continued to somehow agree to these damn things, each and every time the bard asked him to attend.

“Geralt, maybe look like you don’t want to punch someone? You know, seem amicable, not brooding.”

“And what if I do want to punch someone? Namely, you, for bringing me here.”

“Oh, you know you wouldn’t be able to resist my request, you never can, so at least enjoy yourself while you’re here - as foreign of a concept that is to you.”

Geralt gave a scathing glare towards Jaskier, who only grinned in return.

Quickly, the bard pranced off with his lute in hand, towards the band and the stage, probably to perform more of his bothersome “White Wolf” songs that had become so popular in the last few years. The witcher would admit, (only to himself) that Jaskier’s voice really wasn’t all that unpleasant to listen to - in fact, it was actually rather nice. But that didn’t mean that he enjoyed the songs themselves. If he sung about anything else other than “the great Witcher, the Butcher of Blaviken”... but lately, it seemed like that was all that Jaskier sung about, ever since practically attaching himself to Geralt’s side.

Giving a deep sigh, Geralt found a wall that he could lean against and observe the event, much as usual, preferring to stay inconspicuous. As he looked around, preparing to try and avoid any trouble if possible, Jaskier’s lively music played in the background of his senses.

Jaskier couldn’t help but continually glance over at Geralt. The man just attracted his gaze, no matter where he was in the room or whether he was covered in monster guts or not. And the bard wasn’t sure whether he wanted to think on what that meant or not. Usually when around the witcher, he just drowned out his confusing thoughts with the constant stream of babbling that came out of his mouth. It annoyed Geralt, sure, but it was better than having to think about what those thoughts meant, for him and for the witcher.

The booing of the nobles drew him out of this thoughts, and he realized that he had been so preoccupied that his voice had trailed off mid-song, and he had hit a wrong chord on his lute.   
He grinned out at the audience and resumed his playing, not wanting to let Geralt know that something was off. Because now that the thoughts had penetrated his mind, he couldn’t stop going back to what exactly Geralt was to him? What that attraction of his gaze meant, the flirtatious comment about the witcher’s fine ass that he accidentally let slip earlier…  
The song finished, and Jaskier stepped off the stage with a bow, heading straight towards a relatively empty table in the hall that also bore a large amount of ale.  
It was becoming obvious to him that Geralt had come to mean more than he had intended for the witcher to be. He couldn’t deny that the witcher was attractive - but anyone who had working eyes would say that. But there had to be a reason that Jaskier kept following Geralt as he traveled the Continent - the surplus of monsters that the witcher managed to attract would drive most people off. Yet Jaskier stayed - because he couldn’t stay away.

“Well, shit.” he muttered. He was attracted to Geralt. He was inexplicably attracted to THE witcher, to the mutant who inspired fear in most - romantically attracted.

“Fuck.”

Geralt stared across the room. Jaskier was sitting alone, which was unusual in itself - he was almost always in the company of someone. And he seemed like he was contemplating something, and hadn’t spoken to anyone in several minutes - also very uncharacteristic, considering the man almost never shut up. Just then, Jaskier’s gaze lifted from the wooden table in front of him, and met Geralt’s look. They locked eyes for just a second, before Geralt shifted his gaze, furrowing his brow into a glare directed at some of the particularly raucous nobles. Something about the bard’s look… unsettled him. There was something in it, an emotion that he couldn’t decipher, or was at least a stranger to; which was not surprising. With more mutations than most witchers, many of the emotions that were considered to show vulnerability were shoved away deep inside him, where he rarely, if ever, accessed them.

Jaskier’s breath caught, as he caught the gaze with his own. He hoped desperately that Geralt would not sense the raw emotion that was growing inside him. His realization had sent his mind spinning, and he had never been that good at keeping his emotions at bay to begin with. Nothing like Geralt, who rarely showed that he cared, unless you knew him well enough to notice the minuscule tells that showed that he did anything more than hate.  
Even as he hoped for that, the witcher was pushing off of the wall he leaned against, traipsing towards the table where Jaskier sat.

“Oh, hi Geralt, what brings you out of your corner there? Are you going to stop sulking?”  
The witcher gave him a wry look.  
“I do not sulk.”

“Ohh that’s funny, you do sulk! And you brood. You are the definition of brooding!”

Geralt glared.   
“I. Don’t. Brood.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever you want to believe.”

The witcher rolled his eyes, but Jaskier could swear he saw something in them soften, for just a second. But then it was gone, and he wondered if he imagined it.  
“Jaskier. Why were you so quiet? And sitting all the way over here. As much as I dislike your incessant babbling, this isn’t like you.”

Jaskier stared at Geralt. The witcher had never bothered to ask how he was before, had never even once seemed like he had concern regarding how Jaskier was doing. But now, he had bothered to ask about him?  
“Oh, nothing, I was just thinking-“  
“And that is what’s so strange, Jaskier. You rarely ever think before speaking, let alone think in silence for so long.”

Jaskier looked at Geralt. “I’m not sure whether I should feel insulted by that or not - but then, you do insult me a lot anyways.”  
Geralt seemed to have almost a pained look on his face at that - at least, a pained look by the witcher’s standards. Jaskier was becoming more and more confused by the minute. This was quite possibly the strangest conversation he’d ever had with Geralt, simply by the air of almost-concern that the witcher had.

Before either of them could continue their conversation further, a shrill scream resonated from outside the hall, and the doors slammed open with the weight of the limp body that was thrown against them.

Jaskier turned to look at Geralt. “Well, that can’t be good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote the first chapter at 3am and didn’t write down my story idea for the remaining chapters, so hopefully this is still good! I have a general plan for the last two chapters, but honestly it might end up in a totally different direction haha.


	3. three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier can’t stay put, and has a penchant for getting himself into danger. This time is no exception.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is up quick, but I had inspiration and wanted to write it while I could, so enjoy!

Geralt’s sword was out of its sheath in a flash as cries of horror rang around the room. He quickly stepped over to where the body lay on the floor. It was a young nobleman, his chest torn open by four long, deep gashes. He turned to Jaskier, who had followed him to the front of the room.  
“Stay here.”

“What? No, I can’t-“

“Damn it, Jaskier! Stay. Here.”

With that, Geralt turned and headed into the castle halls, in search of whatever had killed the noble.

Jaskier turned with a grimace to the rest of the nobles, who were all sitting with shocked looks on their faces, some looking rather pale. One young woman was bent over near the back of the room, retching. He gave a shrug, turning to follow Geralt into the castle.  
A noble called out to him as he left. “But, the witcher said-“  
But Jaskier had already vanished into the castle.

It was funny, Jaskier thought as he walked, trying to figure out where Geralt had gone. He hadn’t even flinched at seeing the body. Sure, it was gross, but he had become so accustomed to traveling with the witcher that it was close to normal at this point for a monster to show up and wreak havoc. He supposed that probably wasn’t a good thing… but there was something about Geralt that made Jaskier want to follow him to the ends of the earth, so it was something he had grown used to.  
That in itself was another revelation that Jaskier truly did not know what to do with. He knew Geralt would probably get rid of him if the witcher had the chance, but somehow Jaskier still followed him anyways.

A low growl from the dimly lit hall in front of him brought him out of his thoughts.  
“Uhh, Geralt?”  
The bard got no answer.  
“Hey, Geralt, are you there? I know you said to stay in the banquet hall, but I couldn’t resist, I mean come on, a witcher fighting a… monster ...”

Jaskier trailed off as a huge werewolf climbed out of the shadows in front of him.  
“Oh, no no no, this is not good… Geralt!” He called louder, hoping for the witcher to hear him, but still he heard no response. The werewolf stalked towards Jaskier, backing him into a corner of the hall. The beast’s large, clawed hand shot out, grabbing Jaskier’s throat and lifting him into the air with another growl.  
Jaskier gasped for breath, his hands scrabbling uselessly at the hand holding him. The monster was too strong for him to hope to get free, and already, dark spots were beginning to dance in his vision.

Then, he saw a glint of silver from behind the werewolf, and Geralt’s sword sliced through the beast’s neck, taking its head off. Jaskier was dropped to the ground abruptly, and he staggered as his feet hit the floor, as his knees started to buckle under him.  
A hand gripped his arm, hauling him back up to stand straight, and when he turned to look at Geralt, the witcher’s face was full of fury.

Geralt was fuming. And he was… scared. He had nearly lost Jaskier. Seeing the werewolf holding the bard like that awakened some sort of primal fury in him, and he barely registered it when he killed the beast, too consumed by white-hot anger. He had nearly lost Jaskier, and it was that thought that scared him the most, although he hated to admit it still.  
“Damn it, Jaskier! There is a very good reason that I told you to stay back, and this is why! Do you have a death wish? It seems like every time I warn you to keep away from the trouble, you decide to barrel headfirst into it instead!”

Jaskier lowered his head. “I’m sorry, Geralt… you know that I can’t resist what might work for a good ballad, and oh maybe I should have stayed back but to be fair, I thought you would have already found it, that you would be fighting it by the time I got there-“

“I nearly lost you!”

Jaskier froze. Geralt was frozen in front of him too, the witcher looking like he didn’t even believe the words had just come out of his own mouth. 

“What?’ He asked.

“I almost lost you, Jaskier. And… “ The witcher looked like he was struggling to get the words out. “And I can’t have that happen. I… I care, even though it doesn’t seem like it.”

Jaskier stared. Had Geralt lost his mind? What was going on with him? Jaskier, didn’t, couldn’t think about what that meant for him, couldn’t get those hopes in his mind. And… when had the witcher gotten so close to him? There was barely any space between the two now. Jaskier’s heart skipped a beat.

“Jaskier.”

“Uh, yes?”

And then Geralt kissed him.  
Jaskier had one fleeting moment where he wondered if the witcher had truly gone insane, but then he melted into the kiss and he couldn’t think, he couldn’t even breathe, all he could do was hold onto Geralt and press himself even closer.  
It was surprisingly gentle as well. Geralt’s mouth eased over his own, and a large hand came up to gently cup his face.

When they broke apart, Jaskier was gasping again. This time for a very good reason.  
He grinned up at Geralt. “Holy fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit from previous note: I think right now I'm leaving this part where it is, because I think another chapter following this particular scenario would just end up being a filler. But I am planning on writing more - I'm not sure what that will be yet, I'm open to prompt suggestions haha, but there will be more coming in probably the next week or so.   
> For now, I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> (the fic will be marked as completed so it's not sitting at an unknown amount of chapters, but it will be updated still)

**Author's Note:**

> Next chapter ~hopefully~ coming in the next week!  
> I believe it’ll be around four chapters, although that might change if I decide to expand it past what I have planned - depends on if you all enjoy it or not, we’ll see >:)


End file.
